


Red Shadow

by Miss_Peg



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Gen, Parenthood, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Peg/pseuds/Miss_Peg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing a father wants is for his child to be happy, even if that means making him unhappy first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for The Mentalist Reverse Big Bang 2012 for a piece of artwork created by [king_stitch](http://king-stitch.livejournal.com/2012/07/17/) on LiveJournal. I originally posted it on LJ, then Fanfiction.net and I'm now cross-posting it here by request.

Blood seeped across the blanket, covering the flowery pattern in a deep red. The woman groaned as life ebbed away from her, the final punishment. He walked around the bed, watching her movements slow and her breath become shallow. The best bit was the end, when they crossed the line between life and death, when everything he'd worked so hard to achieve had been completed and another life had been taken.

'Momma?'

The world ground to a halt, the woman's body still slipping away but he didn't notice as he glanced across the room at the small boy with blond hair. His thumb rested in his mouth, sucking hard on the comfort of his own skin. Perfect golden blond hair and the brightest eyes. He was perfect, the perfect child.

He was also the only witness to his crime. Usually it was the husband who came home, only to be slaughtered in the same way as his wife. Had he been any older, then perhaps John would have done to the boy what he had done to so many others before him. Something stopped him though, that worrisome glance, the watery tears filling his eyes and the thumb wobbling about as he sucked harder.

'It's okay,' he soothed, reaching out an arm to the little boy. He frowned, looking more scared than comforted. 'I'm your Mommy's friend; she wanted me to ask you to help me with something.'

He looked doubtful and as he glanced across at the woman, lay butchered on the bed, his lip began to quiver.

'She's sleeping right now, we're playing a game and she's winning. Do you want to win too?'

He glanced back to his mother, his eyes wide, his thumb still wobbling.

'What's your name?'

'Pattick,' he mumbled, barely removing his hand as he spoke. John took a step forward, holding out his gloved hand towards the boy.

'Hello Patrick, nice to finally meet you. Your Mommy has told me so much about you.'

He stared as John shook the little boy's hand, holding it between them with a grin plastered across his face. It took only a minute for the boy's wall to lower and he smiled back, still wary, but mostly accepting.

'Me win?' he asked.

'That's right, you can help me,' John said, scooping the boy up and carrying him across the room. He placed him on the bed beside his mother. 'Are you any good at painting Patrick?'

He shook his head, his blond hair flying out at all angles. John chuckled and reached for Patrick's hand.

'How about I do the painting, but we use your hands? I'll just show you where to move them?' He nodded. 'Great.'

On the outside he knew that what he was about to do seemed perverse, obscene, monstrous and for the most part he wondered if the assumption was realistic. He was about to draw a smiley face with the boy's hand, soaked in his mother's blood. How much more deranged can one person get? He wasn't crazy though, merely clever. Nobody would suspect that he had had anything to do with the crime if a three year old child was found covered in his mother's blood, the only witness to a crime that he was too young to really, truly remember.

'One day, my boy,' said John, sitting the boy down on the floor, blood covering his overalls. 'We will meet again. It probably won't be for a long time, but don't worry, I'll always be there, watching you.'

Patrick's bottom lip wavered and John shook his head, barely phased at the child's need to cry.

'I'll be there to look after you, to watch over you, because that's what your Mommy wants me to do.'

When Patrick Jane was six years old he visited Kindergarten, a small school on the outskirts of the city where his father had parked their home for the next few weeks. Apparently they were staying for just a month, so that Patrick could be given a glimpse of a normal childhood before the carnival circuit started up and his life on the road became the norm. Alex Jane sat out front with a cigar resting between his lips and a bottle of beer in his hand. As far as he was concerned, his son was safe, curled up in bed in the van. Of course, he didn't see the man walking across the lot, his red hair cut short and his shoes so smooth that he barely left a trail. The man was preoccupied, so much so that John could sneak past him with ease. He carefully unlatched the front door of the van and tiptoed inside. In the small bedroom at the back, he found the little boy lay on his side, looking at a comic book. John smiled at him, his hair had been cut shorter, more manageable, but he still appeared the bright child he had always been.

'Hello Patrick, remember me?'

The little boy glanced up, looking about ready to scream when John lunged forwards and clamped a hand around his mouth. He would not be discovered this way.

'I'm a friend of your Mommy's, Patrick, don't you remember me?'

He shook his head, fear etched in his face as tears strolled down his cheeks.

'It's okay, sweet boy, I'm here, daddy's here.'

‘My daddy is outside.’

‘I know, I know he is.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I told you, Patrick. I’m a friend of your mother’s.’


End file.
